


Teach Them How to Say Goodbye

by gwendolyncooper



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, It's just sad and it hurts, Post-Series 03: Children of Earth (Torchwood), There is not an ounce of fix-it in this, This hurt to write and I cried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolyncooper/pseuds/gwendolyncooper
Summary: Gwen and Rhys clean out Ianto's flat after Jack leaves Earth. Ianto has left something behind for his best mate.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Teach Them How to Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yavemiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavemiel/gifts).



The key seems to jam in the lock when Gwen Cooper attempts to slide it in. A soft, short breath escapes her lips in a minor form of frustration, jiggling it from side to side until it slots into place and she can turn the doorknob, a door that looks like any other drifting open to reveal what is inside.

It has a stale feeling to it -- as though the air inside has been circulating through the small, lonely flat without disturbance for a while now. It’s been too long since Gwen has been in this flat, really -- what was the point of it? When it was the three of them, Jack and Ianto had always come round to theirs, or they’d been at the Hub. This area was a safe haven for the two men, a place Gwen rarely had invaded.

But that’s all gone now. Gone and left behind, like Jack had done with everything here on Earth, with Torchwood, with  _ her. _ The last surviving member of a team now splintered and broken. After a while, it simply stopped hurting, became numb. Stale, like this flat.

Right, the flat.

_ Ianto’s flat. _

Numb though her heart might be, her body is not, and she can still feel so strongly the lump in her throat that forms, making it hard to breathe. She steps through the doorway into the small entrance, glancing around her with trepidation evident in both her expression and body language. There is a clear hesitation to move further than the entryway, as though sheltering between those two walls that limit her view into the rest of the area will protect her from the heavy, constant feeling she carries around with her. The feeling that started with the loss of Owen and Tosh, the feeling that became near-unbearable with Ianto,  _ crushing _ with Jack.

A hand on her shoulder startles her, and she jumps despite herself, a sharp inhale sucked in through her nose as her head snaps to the side. She pauses, then, catching sight of the man in her periphery, allowing his familiar voice to wash over her.

“It’s all right, it’s just me, lovely.”

_ Rhys. _ Her constant through it all. Stoic and supportive and stolid through the fear and danger and the wild, aching grief that she has experienced. He deserves every bit of appreciation in the world -- and she has given what she can, yes. But he is endlessly patient, with her, with the situation. With the struggle of carrying…

Her hand rests against the round curve of her stomach as the baby shifts within her, as though sensing her thoughts have turned to the child rather than her quiet reverie.  _ Their baby. _ Their darling child. A girl, now -- she’d been hoping to tell Jack that, but she’d never gotten the chance. She’d worried what Torchwood would look like with a baby in the picture, but that’s been taken care of, now hasn’t it? There  _ is _ no Torchwood any longer.

Just Gwen Cooper.

And Rhys Williams.

And soon, little Anwen.

It’s a slight comfort, but it  _ is _ there, and it brings her the bravery she needs to take the next few steps into the main area of the flat, glancing around at it. It’s barren -- always has been, that hasn’t changed much. Ianto didn’t really  _ live _ there as much as he simply  _ occupied _ the space for a long time. With Lisa, she knows that now. And then he’d planned to move, but Jack had up and left, and they’d been so busy keeping Torchwood afloat that they’d hardly had the chance to breathe, much less think about shifting living arrangements. And then Jack had come back, and Ianto spent most of his time in the Hub with him, and this space...well, saved for the few nights they could snatch away from the Rift alarm. Few and far between, after Owen and Tosh.

There aren’t many nights she could remember spending here. There are a few, of course -- the first time they’d all  _ laughed _ together after Owen and Tosh. They’d been up for three days, chasing down a herd of what could best be described as miniature pink giraffes made of smoke that had floated through the streets, wreaking havoc on the electrical grid. They’d been only a block away from here when the last of them had been taken down, and the SUV had been a two-mile walk, so...they’d crashed there that night. Called in a pizza and collapsed on the floor of the living area to eat, in exhausted silence. Gwen had nearly flipped the entire pizza on to the ground trying to open the box and melted into a fit of exhausted giggles -- Jack had joined in next, when she couldn’t stop, and Ianto shortly after when they found themselves curled on the ground punch-drunk and helpless to stop exhausted laughter.

They’d cried that night, too -- the first time they’d cried together since watching Tosh’s farewell video. It was a  _ good _ cry -- mixed with laughter and stories and the moments they held dearest. Tears weren’t the end of it all. In the end, Jack and Ianto had stumbled into the bedroom to collapse on the bed, and Gwen had fallen asleep on the couch curled under Jack’s great coat. The next morning was  _ almost _ domestic, before the alarm went off again, and they were off running before the toast had finished or the coffee had brewed in a flurry of curses and hasty preparation.

They’d needed that night.

She realizes she’s simply standing there, staring at that empty spot where they’d sat on the ground. Rhys, bless his soul, doesn’t rush her in the slightest. He’s simply standing behind her still, giving her the time she needs. She wouldn’t make it through this without him, they both know that. Gwen has always needed him, even before she had realized how  _ deeply _ she does.

She reaches out then, hand extended at her side without looking backwards, and her husband’s grasp fits around hers perfectly. Again, silence reigns within the tiny area until it feels as though the high-pitched ringing of it will overwhelm her, and the woman sighs, simply to break it. It’s then that the man at her side nudges her, allows them to take the next steps into the process of removing Ianto’s life from the space he belonged to. His voice is soft but steady, reassuring to her in its very existence. “Let’s get things together, then.”

Rhys leaves her side to carry in the flat-pack boxes they’d gathered. For Tosh and Owen, they’d gotten boxes branded with the prominent Torchwood logo all over. But Torchwood is gone now, in hiding, and they can’t be that obvious.

They work in silence for a while as they pack up the remnants of one of the most important lives to ever have touched Gwen’s own. It’s simplistic, this quiet, the silence broken by boxes being put together and dishes moving. Most of it will go to Rhiannon -- theoretically,  _ all _ of it. Gwen knows, though, there are pieces missing. She’s not touched the area since that day at Thames House, but she knows Jack will have been here. She’d expected to help  _ him _ pack it up, for them to pick up the pieces of Torchwood together.

She’s always wondered, in a way, if Jack loved her the same way that he loved Ianto -- and not in the attraction that she’d found in him at the beginning, not in  _ that _ manner. But if he’d loved her, or Owen, or Tosh, quite as deeply as he’d loved Ianto.

She’s always  _ known _ the answer. But  _ almost, but not quite, _ is not an easy response to accept. So she’s ignored it, until that  _ but not quite _ was enough for him to leave her, forever. She understands it -- god, she remembers the wild, rage-driven  _ grief _ after losing Rhys to Bilis Manger. The anger, the fear, the desperation. She’d have torn the Rift open, ripped the world  _ apart _ to bring him back. She’d turned on Jack in a second.

She doesn’t have a right to hate him for leaving.

But she does.

And she misses him.

And there she is again, staring at a mug that was once at the Hub, that had somehow ended up here, that had to have come with Jack at some point. A mug, just a mug, but one that had always been settled in front of their captain by Ianto, day after day. It doesn’t belong here. But it would have been blown up at the Hub. And there she is, just staring at it, blankly, doing nothing. Rhys keeps working in the other room, packaging up the bookshelf, but it’s a long moment before she realizes he’s gone quiet.

She turns, almost startled to find him watching her, and for a moment, is almost  _ defensive _ of the tired compassion in his eyes. This has been far from easy for him, either, and she feels the need to give back, to support him. Over the last six months, she’s done well -- grieving, moving on, supporting him and readying themselves for the day that Jack returned, and they’d go on, and they’d figure out Torchwood and Anwen and…

And then Jack had left four days ago, and everything had come crashing down all over again.

So Rhys Williams has again become her support, when she can’t manage on her own. She wants to say something -- anything. To apologize, to shrug it off, to explain. And instead she maintains the silence that has shrouded her for days, words escaping her as she simply stares at him, green eyes bright with tears she won’t shed.

“...was thinkin’ I’d go get a bite, bring it back for you?” His smile is heartbreakingly understanding, and she can only swallow thickly and nod, blinking hard to keep from allowing tears to spill down her cheeks. “Give you a moment alone.” And he steps forward, hand against her waist, and kisses her forehead. Her eyes close; a single tear runs over freckled skin. “Be back soon.”

She stands where she is until the door closes behind him, and then longer, the mug still grasped tightly in her hand as she stands in front of an empty kitchen cabinet. It takes too long to move again, to turn and set the ceramic cup in the box, nestled amongst newspaper packaging. She inhales deeply, pushing the air back out through pursed lips, before she turns away from it and makes her way into the living room, looking over the half-packed bookshelf. She takes her time lowering herself to the ground, one hand braced against her stomach, before she finds a tolerable position and begins to set the books gently, carefully, into the containers designated for them.

She doesn’t quite realize she’s looking for something in particular until the shelf is empty, and she hasn’t found it. A frown draws her brows together, and she turns to the box Rhys has already packaged, pulling it open to search through the contents, one by one. Not there, either.

It’s a task to haul herself to her feet, but she does with an increasing feeling of realization. She finds the bedroom, opens the bedside table drawer (she’s really unsurprised by the amount of sex toys in there -- she’ll not touch those, thanks), but it’s in the matching piece of furniture at the other side of the bed that she finds her answers. Inside, there’s a few books Ianto was reading, a couple of Torchwood documents, but -- not his diary.

She sits on the mattress with a stack of loose papers in her hand, staring blankly at the wall. So Jack  _ had _ been there, then -- he’d come back for the piece of Ianto that held his thoughts. Of course they all knew that Ianto kept a diary, but none of them had been privy to it. It was an invasion of privacy. And now Jack keeps Ianto’s last thoughts with him. She’ll never know them.

A shaky breath falls from her lips as she stares down at the papers in her hand, sorts through them. Mail, bills, unfinished paperwork (Jack had to have left it there, Ianto was too careful for that), and --

_ Gwen Cooper. _

Scratchy, spidery handwriting that she knew all too well, spelling out her name on the front of a sealed envelope, hits her like a blow to the chest. Of everything in this flat, of everything that he had left behind, meant to be touched by only him, or for Jack’s eyes only,  _ this _ one was meant for her.

She’s almost too scared to open it.

Her hands shake as she moves to open the sealed letter, taking extra care to loosen the flap rather than ripping it. It doesn’t seem particularly old or out of place; it would have meant nothing were it not destined for her attention. A breath is pulled into her lungs and held, as she slowly removes the contents.

The first thing that catches her attention is a cheque -- made out to her, as a surprise. Had she won a bet? Her gaze flickers over the amount and her eyes round into wide shock. Right, they’d never made  _ those _ sorts of bets, so why was this here, for her? There’s a neatly folded letter beneath it, and she carefully sets the cheque in the envelope once more and opens the sharp creases of the letter.

_ Gwen, _

_ If you’re reading this, then I suppose I’m dead. _

She has to pause, looking away as tears well anew in her eyes. She lifts her face up to the ceiling to let the breath she is holding out through pursed lips, attempting to keep the sobbing grief that she has experienced so many times before at bay.  _ Right, okay. _ In searching his flat, she’s not expected to find something addressed directly to  _ her.  _ The beginning line feels achingly familiar -- was there not a video they’d all watched together, with Toshiko’s beautiful face filling the screen?

There is a similar letter waiting for Rhys, should anything happen to her, and her parents. She doesn’t  _ want _ to be the recipient of this letter. It isn’t  _ fair _ that she  **has** to be.

She almost doesn’t read it.  _ Almost. _

_ Gwen, _

_ If you’re reading this, then I suppose I’m dead. We always knew it was a possibility. I’d always expected it, really. I do hope it was doing something heroic, not tripping over a curb or eating a bad curry. Though that’d be my luck, I suppose. _

_ Anyway-- _

_ I remember we’d always talked about retiring one day, visiting Italy or something Mediterranean, leaving Jack and Rhys behind to hold down the fort. I didn’t really think I’d make it that far, but if you’re reading this, you have. So, take the cheque. Take Rhys to Italy with you, and I mean it. Don’t put it off. If I’m gone, then you know we’ve only got so much time here. Take some time, go enjoy yourself. Tell Rhys to get a tan, he needs it. _

_ Don’t know that I have much else to say here that you don’t know. Look after Jack, if you can. Can’t explain to you what you’ve meant. Go save the world a few times for me. _

_ Have an amazing life, Gwen. _

_ Ianto _

She realizes she’s crying first when tears begin to plop onto the paper, leaving large wet marks. It becomes a scramble to save it, to fold the letter and tuck it neatly inside the envelope -- which she promptly drops to the floor in her haste. It takes a moment to get down onto the ground, sitting awkwardly to accommodate her stomach; a moment longer is needed for her shaking hands to scoop up the envelope into her grasp again.  _ Gwen Cooper. _ Her name on the front stares up at her, as if in question.

It is then that the sobs begin to well up in her like the ocean during a hurricane, waves of grief overwhelming her and escaping as gasping, broken wails. Her arms wrap about herself, back leaned against the bedframe, and for the first time since the 456, Gwen Cooper allows herself to  _ grieve. _

She grieves for Owen and Tosh, their lost comrades, taken from them too soon by horrific circumstances, forced to spend their last moments alone.

She grieves for Jack Harkness, for the man who had become so much to them all, and to  _ her. _ She grieves the friendship they had and the place she’d believed she’d held in his heart. Not like Ianto, never Ianto, but the place that she had  _ believed _ beyond a shadow of a doubt would keep him from abandoning her. For the belief that was shattered when he disappeared with those fated words --  _ watch me. _

She grieves for Ianto Jones, lost too soon, too young, too brave. Lost standing up to aliens to save the world, lost when he was finally  _ happy _ and had what he deserved, when the sadness that followed him didn’t keep step with him so closely. Lost when he deserved the rest of his life, to be happy, forever.

She grieves for the family she’d found and that was shattered, piece by piece, until she is the only fragment left.

And she grieves for herself. For Gwen Cooper, who had been brought into a world full of magic and danger and wonder in a way that was irrevocable. For the girl who’d come into Torchwod with ideals of humanity and morality that had been slowly tainted, bit by tiny bit, over time. For the woman who had placed her trust implicitly in flawed people, time and again. For the path behind her, that she can never retrace. For the broken thing that has come out of the wreckage of Torchwood, that she is now.

And above all, Gwen realizes now that Ianto was right. He  _ knew. _ He knew that the plans they’d made would never come to be.

He knew that Torchwood would never let them leave alive.

He knew that he was never going to make it through. Despite everything -- the laughter and late nights and secrets and love between their tiny, fragmented family…

He knew.

_ I didn’t really think I’d make it that far. _

When Rhys arrives, he’s in a panic, pizza near-tossed at the countertop as he rushes inside to drop to his knees by her. His desperate pleas for an explanation are met only with screaming,  _ wrenching _ sobs, with a desperate grip upon him as she sinks into his grasp, grieving as she has only once before, when she held his bloodied body in her arms.

He can’t quiet her, can’t understand the repeated, gasping mantra -  _ he knew!  _ \- that is the only explanation she can give. So instead he holds her, and he stays, until she can no longer cry and her voice has gone hoarse, and all she wants is sleep.

He picks her up then, and carries her to the car, with promises they’d come back and finish packing up the flat later.

He never notices the envelope tucked into her inside jacket pocket, close against her heart.

They go to Italy a month later. Gwen hands Rhys tickets and tells him it’s about time they take time away, and they should go before the baby comes and they won’t have time alone together any longer. Rhys, in his ever-present patience, opts not to question her, and away they go.

He never questions why she stands on the balcony gazing out at the city every night, doesn’t ask if she’s imagining the places she’s talked about with Ianto, and what it would look like were she to be there with her found family. Most nights, he pretends to sleep rather than admitting he watches her through the window, bathed in the moonlight.

Ianto would have loved Italy, he thinks, glancing at the envelope sticking out of his wife’s bag.

**Author's Note:**

> Extra thanks and credit to Yavemiel for the concept. Hope it's as sad as you expected.


End file.
